Siren
by Conviction
Summary: She had woken abruptly to the cold, stark world and the unknown stars outside, and a desperate ache burning in her lungs for sunlight and magic. Oneshot with Lucy and Peter


When Peter awoke that night, he was unsure at first what had disturbed him. The darkness was calm and heavy, filled with the stifling summer heat, and he reached above his head to struggle with the latches on the window, through the pane open to admit a comfortingly chilled night breeze. He lay in his bed, staring across at the paneled white walls that were lit by the grey, sparse moonlight, drawing slow, deep drafts of air into his lungs and listening to the quiet sound of them rushing back out, tasting the unfamiliar tang of the salt from the sea.

And then he heard it, barely audible through even the thin walls of the vacation home—the muffled sound of sobbing. With panic lacing through his veins he staggered out of bed, not bothering with the light, and stumbled into the hallway, finding his way more by instinct then by actual sight to the source of the sound. Lucy's room. He hesitates by the door, wondering if he should knock, feeling a terrible kind of dread.

Needing to rescue her, wanting to defend her from fears and pains, he stood awash in theories of what horrors had troubled her young and fragile dreams. He stood, caught in uncertainty, doubting himself and his ability to comfort her, his place to interfere. It passed in an instant, and his hand had gripped the doorknob before he had realized it, and he was easing the door open quietly, carefully.

"Lucy?"

She sniffed abruptly, and he poked his head into the room, wearing his concern openly. She was huddled in bed, her face buried completely in her hands, shoulders shaking as she leaned her forehead against the windowsill, the cold and pale moonlight falling over her like a solemn blanket.

"Oh, Lu…" he whispered hoarsely, standing frozen on the threshold a moment before he forced his legs to carry him across the hardwood floors to her bed, sitting on the edge and placing a warm, solid hand on her back, feeling the soft material of her thin cotton nightgown beneath his fingertips as he rubbed comforting circles, his heat spreading across the cool fabric.

Her loose, lazily curling black locks tumbled around her thin shoulders as she took in a shuddering breath. "I heard them in my dreams," she said quietly, voice choked with shards of dreams and twilight, wrapping her arms around her legs as she gathered her knees close to her chest and rested her chin on them. Her grip was tight, and tears continued to spill down her cheeks, her small form trembling, so delicate and easily broken to his eyes in the ashen glow.

Knuckles brushed against her damp cheeks, fingers that felt clumsy and overlarge as he gingerly tucked the soft, wayward locks of shadow behind her small ears. "Heard who, dearest?"

She bit her lip, closing her eyes, trying to forget the sound, sobs rising up and clawing at her throat, refusing to allow her to form words. Without any warning she suddenly lunged at him, tangling her fingers in his shirt and burying her face in his neck, her hot tears trickling down his skin. He startled, then wrapped his arms tightly around her, dragging her fully into his lap and holding her against his chest.

"I… I heard the m-mermaids, Peter," she wept, her fists balling desperately in cloth as the memories welled in her with all the ferocity of a tempest. "Calling me…"

He became all too aware of the crashing of the waves in the background, and he involuntarily raised his head to gaze out across the pale beaches down to the roiling line of surf. There was something wild, vast and consuming, in the beat as they rolled and spilled and foamed along the sand, at the roar of the water slamming against the mountains of rock farther out and spraying high into the air. An ancient music that seemed to get deep into the blood and breed a sense of longing that could not be sated.

He played with her hair, running it through his fingers as she continued to cry softly. "I miss it," she said, "I miss it so much."

It was the sense of awe and wonder, a thrill of things deeper and more fantastic then your mind's grasp. The ocean brought all that back. In the city is was almost easier, when it seemed more like a dream. Where life moved at such a breakneck pace and there was little room to ponder sunlight and gold thrones and swords amidst the brick walls and suffocating, dim smog and the weary drone of machinery. But here… here the pounding waves slammed into carefully constructed barriers and ate away attempts at separating the two worlds.

The sea was the same, a constant of both worlds, as exciting and enthralling here as it was there, with the same deep thrumming magic coursing through it. It was enchantment in the midst of a world that seemed to have forgotten such things. Endless and consuming, stirring up a whelm of old emotions and feelings with the constant churn and rush of tides.

Even back home, little things would bring back thoughts of that other place, memories trying to surface through the foggy haze of the past. Simple things, objects, places—the sight of an ordinary lamppost, the feel of bark on a tree, a sunset, a picture of a lion. Fairy tales, with their knights and princesses, took on an entirely different meaning, and witches were no longer only ugly, crude hags in black with warts and apples.

But here… it was inescapable, overwhelming. And Lucy cried in his arms, longing to be embraced in the arms of magic once more, to wake up from the darkness and the cold ocean, and find herself home. She had dreamed of sweet fantasies before—of crowns, fauns, of the life that had been hers in another time, another place.

This time, though, there was no such sunlight or adventure. No, there had been only the night sky, unfathomable, and the beating pulse of the ocean, and the playful fingers of the wind whipping her hair into her face. But she knew the tales of the constellations above her, stories still treasured and passed down in Narnia, and a raw homesickness swept over her as she traced out the familiar patterns and shapes amidst the stars.

And rising slowly, lost at first amidst the waves, came the haunting, lilting notes of the mermaids. Reaching out and plucking the deepest chords of her desire and heartache, she stood, entranced. Without words, they sang of their world, of the magic that was their birthright, of the heritage and feral beauty of the sky and the earth and sea. And they called to her, across the distance, enticing her into their waters.

She had been swept up into the tempest of their songs and promises, lured in like a sailor by honeyed notes and half-glimpsed dreams. She had closed her eyes on that shore and lost herself, drowning in that ocean, surrounded by the _feel_ and texture of that world, drawing in the taste of it in a heady rush.

But she had been dashed on the rocks. She had woken abruptly to the cold, stark world and the unknown stars outside, and a desperate ache gnawing inside for the presence of home. And the sight of the cold grey waters outside her window, the taunting lullaby that beat cruelly against her ears, all bore down on her, flooding burning tears into her vision.

She tasted salt, bitter and yet comforting against her lips.

"I miss it too," Peter murmured gently, hugging her, a jagged edge of emotion entering his own words. He blinked away the tears that pricked at his own eyes.

"Do you really think we'll go back?" she whispered, sniffling as she sat back and scrubbed at her eyes with the backs of her hands.

"I… I don't know. I hope so," he said, brushing a lingering teardrop from her chin. His heart broke, not to be able to assure her, but he found himself unable to lie to her pleading, intent gaze. "Professor said so, and he seems to know a bit about the matter. It will turn out alright in the end."

She managed a water smile, trying to be brave like he was, and he leaned forward, kissing her on the forehead. "Now try to get some sleep."

"Peter?" she asked as he settled her under the covers. "Will you… will you tell me a story? About the stars, and Rythel and his knights and the Lady Adrianne?"

"Of course," he smiled, kneeling beside her bed, and she closed her eyes and listened to the sound of his voice as he spoke of the tales woven across far off skies, until sleep stole her away, and he eventually fell silent, staring out past her to the ocean and the stars. His knees were getting sore, though, from kneeling on the hardwood, and he stood, leaning over her and carefully easing the window shut until it was only left open a small slit for fresh air to come through.

He watched her sleep, small and pale in the moonlight, a sad smile curling his lips as he lingered at her bedside. "Goodnight, Lucy the Valiant," he whispered into the night, the somber mood lifting for a moment.

"You will always be a Queen, even here."

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Much love, please review. 


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